A 25-year-old mistook me for her age today. It was either a strategic form of flattery, or when she met me she didn’t look closely enough at the length of my crow’s feet. It had to have been the dimly lit meeting room that kept her from spotting my stray gray hairs, but claim still made me smile.

The thing is I am not 25. I am not sure when I stopped being 25. I don’t know where my twenties went actually. Wearing a wistful smile upon hearing her say she couldn’t believe I wasn’t her age, I suddenly realized I miss that decade just a little, and I have no absolutely idea where it went. I blinked, and off my twenties went like a big, loud, fast turbojet. Sneaky twenties. I miss the irresponsibility that I had then. I miss staying up late and being rather footloose and fancy-free. Okay, now I sound old using terms like that. Bah! I am swiftly becoming my Mom.

On my 25th birthday I received a bucket list item as a gift. My dear hubby took me skydiving. Yep, I jumped out of the pictured rusty single engine Cessna strapped by a mere four clips to the back of my instructor. Celebrating my 25, that tandem guy was younger than me and had lost count of his jumps!

Once the altimeter declared we were clear to jump, the momentum of the free fall hit me fast and hard like my twenties. It started out crazy and rocky like my twenties, but ended gloriously with me geeking a camera somewhere around 12,500 feet AGL (Above Ground Level). At an estimated speed of 115 mph, I plummeted to the earth, and it was amazing. When the moment came to pull the chute I didn’t want to. The free fall left me euphoric, and the relaxing descent to the ground only added to that. Much like getting a tattoo, once it was over I wanted to immediately do it again, to get my license, and to become a professional skydiver.

Did I? No, I did not. Would I now? No, I would not. Why? Because I have three kids and have seen enough wayward skydives caught on tape to know better (even though the chances of a skydive going awry vs. a simple car drive going awry are probably much more slim). Will I someday? Maybe.

Upon being called 25 when I am actually on the dark-side, I proudly shared this with dear hubby via text. It was exciting news after all and required immediate sharing. Ain’t he funny? He says my “mental clearance is high.” My new mantra is, “I am 25.” I am telling myself this, because if I act my age I am sure to not have nearly as much fun. Shouldn’t we all not act our age from time to time? It keeps us young. I know my kids love it when I don’t act my age! In fact, I think we will have a dance party right now….